


Time Matters

by Clea Strange (agentj)



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8742064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentj/pseuds/Clea%20Strange
Summary: Do not be mistaken by the cloak’s intentions when it dries the doctor’s eyes. It is a warrior. Purpose is in one’s duty to serve and to protect.





	

Time was meaningless. Purpose was in one’s duty - the duty to serve and protect. Until its purpose was ready to be utilized again, the cloak would stand as a sentinel for as long as it was required.

So it watched. And waited.

Many others came and went to stand before the sentinel, peering at it through the glass like some antiquated relic. Some would look upon it with awe and reverence, struck by the majestic folds of its power, but to the cloak it mattered not. None of these beings required its protection. The cloak felt no need to serve any of these masters.

Days passed by into months, months into years, years into centuries. But time mattered not. The sentinel stood and waited.

One day, vibrations around it changed. Worry. Caution.  _ Fear _ . The time was approaching for it to do its duty, to protect and to serve. It knew the time would come upon it suddenly, and so it was ready. It had always been this way. War was like a blaze once kindled. All it took was one spark to set it off.

Another vibration shook through the astral plane. Even the glass case that surrounded it felt this one. Perhaps it was an actual tremor in the Earth plane. Nonetheless, the war had begun, the cloak knew. This was the start of it, and one would come soon, one who would need it for the purpose for that which it was created.

One appeared before him, but it appeared confused, unfocused. This one had not come to choose a weapon with which to do battle, but rather to understand what this battle was and if this one should be concerned with it at all.

Then several others came. They came to wreck havoc. Death. Pain. A call for destruction. In that moment, the confused one found his purpose in this battle. He, like the cloak, desired to protect.

The battle ensued, and the confused-turned-protector did not know how to fight. He ran, but was prevented from escaping. He stood his ground, but barely could find his fixed point.

Then it was down to the two - the one who had been confused and the one who wanted to cause destruction. The cloak already knew the more worthy of the two opponents were it to be called into this battle.

One by one, glass cases were shattered as the destructor went after the other. Closer they came until the other fell through the case which housed the cloak for so long.

The destructor came for the protector, determined to cut him down to have no more impediments to his cause.

It was time.

The cloak reached out and caught the destructor’s black magical blade. The blade - made to sear through flesh and bone with dark energy - was no match for the cloak’s impenetrable armor. Its folds were forged by white magic like metal forged for battle. Its weaver had spoken incantations and spells with every stitch, adding an invisible mystic shield with every plait.

It caught the blade like a barking creature catches a stick. The dark blade sizzled against the white magic forces that entwined themselves around each fiber of the cloak’s being.

The destructor looked incredulous, but seemed to decide he was mistaken in what he had seen. He swung the blade again, and again the cloak caught it, this time dissolving the blade in his hand. Weaponless, the destructor swung his arm just as the other, who could not believe his luck that he was still alive, tried to escape.

Physical force between the two combatants tipped toward the destructor, for the other could not use its hands effectively to protect himself.

_ Now _ .

The protector plunged to the floor below. This would no doubt have irrevocably incapacitated him from continuing the battle were he to reach the bottom. The cloak understood clearly this was the moment. It dove collar-first and grabbed him by the neck, wrapping its invisible tendrils around his body. He was a bit surprised at first when his sudden plummet stopped with an upward jerk. Luck again, he thought, until he felt his whole body heave back up from whence it came, and he rose like a phoenix from the fire to face the destructor once again.

This was his advantage, and he took it to form a psychic whip. The destructor formed another blade. The two weapons locked in an impasse entwined until one would overcome the tug from the other.

The protector’s strength was not enough, and he went tumbling toward the destructor.

The cloak understood this reluctant protector knew nothing of the weapons surrounding him or their use, so it was that the cloak would have to take matter into its own hands. Dragging him back, the cloak brought him to a weapon of most obvious choice. But instead the protector sought another of simple destruction. For the moment, the two wills struggled as the cloak, in its frustration, had to point out the more effective weapon to the other.

In a moment of hesitancy, the protector was fortunate again that the cloak paid attention to the movements of the destructor and was able to drag his new charge back from harm once more.

Thankfully the new protector was not so stubborn as to ignore the knowledge the cloak was providing, and took the Bands of Cyttorak from the wall, casting it onto the destructor to subdue him.

The destructor began to chant an incantation to release his bonds. The fledgling protector, however, desired understanding. He was after knowledge - what was this fight? Why do you seek to destroy these good people and everything they have built? These were good questions to ask, for the cloak knew a warrior cannot simply fight for the sake of fighting. A warrior needs  _ meaning _ . The cloak had its purpose. Now it would allow the new protector to find his own.

The destructor revealed the chink in the protector’s armor, but the new protector was not swayed. Like the cloak itself, the protector understood the true purpose to serve. The protector, the cloak now realized, had once been a healer. He was Chiron - the healer who could not heal himself, but had the innate power to heal others. And the protector had a name.

_ Doctor _ .

The destructor laughed. Why?

Too late, the cloak realized it had been distracted. Another tremor had passed without it or the protector sensing. The doctor turned and a dark blade entered him, thrown by one of the intruders that had returned. The cloak lifted him away, but now that they were entwined, the doctor’s pain was the cloak’s pain. The doctor collapsed, and so did the cloak. The Doors of Many Worlds were so far away. If only they had a Sling Ring!

The intruder came to finish off what he had started while his destructive master freed himself from his bonds. The cloak was here to serve and protect at all costs. The doctor-protector needed to find someone to heal him. The cloak could not do its duty while they were vulnerable.

Gathering its strength, the cloak disengaged from the doctor and attacked the intruder. Its folds searched the intruder for the magical talisman that would open a portal to get the doctor to a place of healing. Throwing the intruder to the floor, the cloak found the Sling Ring and tossed it across the room.

The doctor clasped the talisman and formed a portal. The link between he and the cloak remained, however, but the cloak would not falter. The doctor needed time to heal. It would not release its prey, and so long as the intruder fought with the cloak, he could not further harm the doctor-protector.

The cloak was wrong. The intruder escaped his body, following the doctor out the open portal.

Foolish doctor-protector leaving the portal open, but this was not the purview of the cloak. It felt the life force escape the confines of the intruder’s body, and the cloak released his form. The destructor, it knew, had already escaped as well. There was nothing the cloak could do now but wait to be called upon again.

It unfurled itself and stood guard. Were the intruder’s life force to return to his body, it would fulfill its duty to serve and to protect.

Time was meaningless.

The cloak sensed a struggle. The doctor-protector was fighting for his life both in the physical plane and in the astral. A surge of energy. Then another, much stronger. The mystic tendrils which had reached back through the open portal to the intruder’s physical form snapped, and the physical form ceased.

The doctor-protector had won. But at what price?

It wasn’t long, and the cloak felt the doctor return through the portal. Weakened but growing stronger, the doctor kneeled before the lifeless form of the intruder. His fingers confirmed what the cloak already knew.

The doctor felt pain anew, but it was not of the physical kind. His heart ached for what he had done. Another death in the wake of his existence. Another failure.

The doctor reached for the cloak, and the cloak joined with him. Together, they were one.

Others had come to protect, but there was a new understanding that had to be exchanged. Tension rose between the protectors, the cloak could feel, but the primary focus was still to protect. The cloak would serve.

The destructor had returned with reinforcements. He had come to finish what he had started. The doctor needed a moment to stand back. The cloak lifted him, and the perspective gave the doctor new understanding. He cast the spell to capture them all inside the Mirror. Initially confident he had done what he needed to do, the doctor soon realized he now trapped himself in a precarious situation.

They ran. They flew. They confronted the truth. Everything moved like chess pieces on an ever-moving board. Pawn blocks knight. Knight takes pawn. Queen blocks knight. Knight takes queen. Checkmate.

Chaos ensued, hoping to save the queen’s life, but it was too late. The cloak stood in waiting until it would be called upon, for these were the matters of the flesh and of bone, and to the cloak, these things mattered not.

Time was meaningless.

There was great sadness upon the queen’s passing, and a yearning for no more death, no more failures. Part of the doctor wanted to hold on tighter. He didn’t want to lose his grip on those he loved. Part of him knew the harder he held on to things, the more they would slip from his grasp.

It was time. A new battle was about to begin. Steeling himself, the doctor looked at his reflection in the mirror, searching for strength he did not feel. The cloak joined with him, and they were one. But the doctor’s pain was the cloak’s pain.

This would not do. They could not do their duty while they were vulnerable. This was not the time for mourning.

The doctor tried to make them look impenetrable, raising the collar of the cloak like a shield to hide the tears. But this was not strength, the cloak knew. No, strength was accepting one’s fears with compassionate love and acceptance.

It wiped away his tears. It accepted his fear of failure, of wanting to do better, wanting to do what is ultimately right, though he wasn’t always sure what that was. The cloak had chosen the doctor-protector  _ because _ of his vulnerabilities, not in spite of them.

The doctor’s embarrassed admonishment of the cloak gave him the strength he had been looking for.

That strength was needed to face the other protector who, like the doctor had been once, seemed to have lost his way. The dark protector was conflicted by the truths he had to face. Nothing was as it seemed to him. But one truth stood out even now: their duty was to protect and to serve. The doctor reminded the other of this, and he knew the truth of this beyond all others.

They were ready to go into battle--

\--Only to find it was already over.

But the doctor refused. There would be no more failures. No more lives needed to be lost. He could - he would - regain them. Turn back time.

The battle began anew. As the destruction undid itself around them, the combatants fought. Dust clouds rose from their feet and obscured their sight. But the cloak needed not eyes to see. It pushed the doctor out of harm’s way, and parried a dark blade from the destructor’s thrust. Another protector was returned to them. Just when everything seemed to be falling back into place, and they readied themselves for the new onslaught--

\--Time stopped.

Suddenly time was no longer meaningless.

Time mattered.

For the first time, the doctor made his request of the cloak.  _ Lift me _ , he called. Up they rose into the scission of the dimensional rift. On they flew, deeper into the unknown of the awe and beauty of this Dark Dimension.

They had but one purpose. Face Dormammu.

This was a fight the doctor knew he could not win. He didn’t have the knowledge nor the strength. The cloak would not be able to protect him. No, the doctor realized, there was another way.

_ Sacrifice _ .

They would die together so that others may live. They would confront the dark lord endlessly, never ceasingly, so life could go on.

This was their purpose.

They would save the Earth by capturing Dormammu in an endless loop of destruction. They would fail together over and over again - willingly.

For eternity, if need be.

The cloak was proud to serve the doctor-protector this way. It was fitting. They would embrace this destiny together.

And if there was some hope that another way could be found to end the cycle and continue to save the Earth over and over in many other ways, they would.

Time had meaning.

Each time they faced Dormammu, he destroyed them. Each destruction brought the Earth and its people freedom. This was their purpose, their duty. And they would serve it together.

In the end, Dormammu could not tolerate the torture of the loss of his freedom to choose. He could not walk away - he was brought back. He could pick them apart and tear them from limb to limb if he wanted - and did - but they would return whole. Dormammu never got the satisfaction to see his destruction end.

In the end, Dormammu bargained.

The battle was over - for now.

It was time to rebuild and renew. And time to put back the power that was not entirely his own. The cloak reminded him of duty. What good would this power be if one could not face himself in the mirror after bending it to his own will? The other protector had been equally right as he was wrong - the price would always have to be paid, whether one’s actions were noble or not. This was the flow of time, of actions and consequences.

Duty was to face one’s consequences and live with them with compassion and acceptance.

The cloak joined with him once more. This was their purpose - to serve, protect and to accept all things with compassion. And sometimes to fight when the world forgets its own purpose.

They would do this together as one.

**Author's Note:**

> One of the themes of the film was that time enslaves us until ultimately it takes away life itself. As an eternal non-living being, the cloak, like Dormammu, lives outside of time. Through Strange’s journey, he goes from being haunted by time to accepting time as a precious gift.
> 
> Plus, as cute as a loving, motherly cloak stories are, I highly doubt a comic book hero would have some doting blanket to smother him. And Wong did explain that this was mystic warfare they would be up against. Doctor Strange must face some rather interminable foes. The relic which literally has his back must be able to withstand the same tumultuous life as the Sorcerer Supreme.


End file.
